


Why Don't We Just Pretend?

by moritzofsuburbia



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moritzofsuburbia/pseuds/moritzofsuburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing they've both sacrificed so much for this, Armand can't bear the coldness that now stands between Louis and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Don't We Just Pretend?

**Author's Note:**

> I had forgotten about this; I wrote it about a year ago and just recently found it on my phone. Named it after a line in the song "Lies" by Marina and the Diamonds, because it reminds me so much of Armand and Louis.

We were at a party that night. One of those elegant galas, men and women dancing with seemingly permanent smiles. The women's faces were painted with makeup, this was a night when they could hide behind powder and rouge and pretend to be gorgeous princesses, dancing with a beloved prince. But to me, this party was not nearly so important. I had attended far too many to care for this specific occasion.

It had been Armand's idea to come, of course. Although it was less of an idea and more of a demand. Not that I would have protested; I never did. I accompanied him as always, the both of us standing nearly exactly a foot away from each other at all times, if not slightly more. I avoided his gaze more out of habit than an actual attempt to ignore him. If he wanted to know what I was thinking, he could simply read my thoughts, the way he always does. I can't keep anything from him, not that I care to make an attempt. Perhaps if I asked him to, he would keep out of my mind. I don't know, I've never bothered to try.

We stayed at the party for the better part of the evening. Before we arrived, our first order of business was to feed, so that we could pass as human, with our skin flushed from the kill. And our thirst, satiated, would not be such a distraction amongst the many mortals at the party.

I'm sure Armand knew that I would have preferred to feed alone, but he feigned ignorance of the fact so that he could watch. Naturally I hated it, having to kill a mortal with his eyes watching me. Large brown eyes that could at times be so warm... What a shock that their gaze should seem so cold and unfeeling as they bore audience to the horrific spectacle of the kill.

I would not watch him kill. I refused to listen to the words he spoke to the young beautiful woman, refused to hear the way that he seduced her, refused to even glance up as they walked away from the crowd, and he moved in closer to her. She didn't even make a sound as that young, beautiful, Botticelli angel approached to take her away.

The rest of the party passed by all too slowly. None of this mattered, I would rather have been anywhere but there. I tried to escape into my thoughts, but they offered little comfort. Yet again I found myself slipping into memories of the past, but this time it was the memories that I had tried the hardest to repress.

I had never been able to repress painful memories for very long. They were ghosts that came back to haunt me, forcing me to feel all the pain I had caused. After all, it was my fault, wasn't it? Everything that had happened to Claudia, and to Lestat. Perhaps if I had not been so blind, so careless, they would still be here today. Perhaps I would be sitting in our beautiful flat, resting in the armchair with a book in my hands, and perhaps I would glance up and see Claudia playing a beautiful piece by Mozart on the piano, her small stature proving to be no disability on her talent as her fingers danced across the keys. Her brow would be slightly knitted in concentration, her focus entirely on the sheet music and the instrument in front of her. And then perhaps Lestat would return home, talking to us at a rapid pace before he had even fully entered the room, completely engaged in the story of some event that had taken place that night.

Perhaps, perhaps. It was too late now. I forced myself to snap out of these fantasies.

I spoke rarely, and when I did speak, it was to politely decline a dance. Not once did I speak to Armand, and not once did he speak to me.

Which is why it came as such a shock when I heard his voice split through the silence between us. "Come, Louis, we're leaving." So calm and composed as he always was, yet there was an urgency in his voice, and something in his expression that expressed some kind of pain, however slight. Was he merely irritated? Or was it something larger? Perhaps I had done something to upset him, to make him sad or angry? I did not know. I could never decipher his thoughts, no more than I could the thoughts of any others I met. Immediately after he spoke, I felt the gentle press of his hand against the small of my back, leading me along with him to the door. Not once did his eyes meet mine. There was no need for me to protest, I simply walked along with him, perfectly matching his quick pace. I was suddenly aware of his closeness to me, but did it matter? He was merely urging me along, out the door, down the street, and the only audible sounds came from the rest of the city. We were so completely silent, and nearly invisible in the dark, we might as well have not been there. To the rest of the world, we did not exist.

More than once, I nearly spoke to him. I wanted to know why we had left so suddenly. It was quite unusual for him to do this. But I did not open my mouth to speak, and I did not bother to ask him what he meant by all this.

It came as something of a shock to me, the way Armand acted when we arrived back at the hotel in which we were staying, back to our elegant room; of course he had not settled for anything less than the best that they had to offer.

He closed the door behind us and brushed past me, his shoulder just grazing mine. Practically falling onto the couch, he sat silently, leaned over with his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on the heels of his hands. "My god, Louis, this is driving me mad," I heard him mutter under his breath.

"What on earth do you mean?" I took a couple small steps closer to him, then stopped and hesitated. He had lifted his head to look at me once again, and there was no mistaking it: his eyes were covered with a thin film of red, and I knew he was on the verge of tears.

"Don't act as though you don't know," he said softly in a low murmur, trying to keep the bloody tears from spilling over. "It's always the same.. Over and over I try to make you happy, I try to regain the thing that I fought for, the thing that we both sacrificed so much for! And over and over, you ignore me. It isn't even hate, is it? It's indifference, and that is almost worse. And even now, you continue to ignore me and instead indulge in memories of your past." He stood up now, closing his eyes to force the tears back. Never could I recall seeing him so utterly without his natural calm demeanor. When had he ever poured out his feelings to me so entirely as he was doing now?

"Armand, I don't understand what you're saying." I remained soft spoken, standing rooted to the same spot. This was my denial speaking. I had been confused at first, but a creeping suspicion had started to come over me as soon as he began talking. And now I understood. 

"The theater is gone. The entire coven is gone. Even your child, gone. I wanted you so badly that I sacrificed everything I had for you. I sacrificed a whole coven for a single person. Does that mean nothing?" He began to walk closer to me, as I remained stagnant. There was obvious pain in his eyes, but I no longer knew what to believe from him. I ignored the mention of Claudia, so strongly hoping that she would not be brought up again in this conversation. _Please, don't mention her to me again, I fear that if she is mentioned by you again I will lose myself entirely, I don't want to think of her now, please..._

"Yes, and you have me. You fought for me, sacrificed for me, killed for me, and now you have me."

"But I do not have what I had when we first met," He argued quietly, his voice wavering just a bit. "Your love. You loved me when we met. You loved me, and I loved you because you were unlike anyone other immortal I had ever met. You were like me. I felt compassion for you. We were both outcasts."

"Armand, please, I don't want to discuss this right now.." I practically had to force the words out, starting to turn away from him.

"Louis. Look at me," he said in a soft voice, and when I looked up, he was standing directly in front of me, a few of the blood tears beginning to run down his face. "After all that's happened.. All we've been through... Can you not even pretend to love me?"

His words pained me on a level that I did not want to admit. "Why on earth would you ask me to pretend something like that? You would accept my love, even knowing that it isn't genuine?"

The tears were coming harder now, and he finally broke his gaze away from mine, perhaps out of shame. "You don't understand, do you? I need this. I need _you_."

I may not have loved him, or at least not in the way that I used to, but still I hated to see him so broken hearted, and the sight of the tears streaming down his melancholic face, still so full of it's angelic beauty, nearly made me want to start crying. I lifted my hand and laid it down gently on his shoulder, standing close to him. I wanted to comfort him, but how was I to do that? I was in pain as well. And I may not have been crying, but Claudia's death had torn me apart. I had never been the same since that terrible loss. And now Armand was telling me that all of it had been for nothing.

The both of us stood entirely still for what could have been a minute or so, and all he did was continue to cry softly, not making a sound. Occasionally he would look at me. "You're saying that you feel nothing for me," he finally spoke, his voice laced with sadness. "Nothing at all..." It was unclear whether this was a question or a statement. All I could do was stare back at him as he moved even closer suddenly, our chests nearly touching as he tilted his head up to press his lips against mine. He lifted his hands and rested them on my chest, just gently at first, until he deepened the kiss and gripped the fabric of my shirt loosely in his fists. I quickly put my hands over his, wanting to move them away, wanting him to stop, but then I relaxed, merely rested my hands over his, and allowed him to kiss me.

He kissed deeply and lovingly, but not at all roughly. His skill, his seductiveness, made it clear that he knew how to seduce, and did so often. Suddenly I could taste the few hot, sweet tears that fell down his face and onto our lips. Even as he kissed me, he continued to cry, as though nothing could console him now, not even this.

Slowly, his grip on my shirt loosened. He pulled away with obvious reluctance, looking down and avoiding my gaze. I couldn't tell if it was out of shame or something else. Disappointment, perhaps. He was disappointed that I had merely stood there, unresponsive, just tolerating his actions instead of returning them. He took a small step back, then another. I didn't have to be able to read his mind to tell what he was thinking.

 

 

An hour later, I was sitting quietly on the couch with a book in my hands, my eyes skimming the pages as Armand's eyes watched me. He sat in another chair a few feet away from me, a solemn and thoughtful look in his eyes. He had been in this quiet, pensive state for a while now, ever since he had kissed me. I didn't attempt to break him from it, I merely left him to his thoughts. I had thought it best to let him figure things out on his own.

His soft voice suddenly broke the silence once again, and when he spoke it was in a thoughtful tone, as though he had finally realized something he had been trying to think of for a long time.

"It's her fault, isn't it?" My teeth clenched suddenly at his words. There was no question of whom he was talking about now. "The way things are between us now. If it weren't for what happened with her, things would be alright?"

At this, I closed my book and set it aside, finally meeting his gaze with my empty, green eyes. "Mon chére," I began quietly in an emotionless tone, no sarcasm or irony in my voice, but no true affection either. "She did not ask to be killed."


End file.
